


Posing Questions

by ForASecondThereWedWon



Series: Spidey-shots, Spidey-shots, now they're done, thanks a lot <3 [21]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, But also, Dom Michelle Jones, Dom Peter Parker, Established Relationship, F/M, Michelle Jones is a Little Shit, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, art student MJ, can I get... other names for Peter's hands for $400 Alex?, meaning this fic has, potential exhibitionism, sciences student Peter, they're both switches: you can't change my mind, what are knee coasters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-27 21:54:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21125840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForASecondThereWedWon/pseuds/ForASecondThereWedWon
Summary: Peter thinks his girlfriend's part-time job as a figure model is great. It helps MJ pay for school, and provides her with a lot of quality "scheming time." Apparently, her latest scheme involves tricking him into walking in on her naked. So, yeah, Peter thinks her job is great.





	Posing Questions

**Author's Note:**

> This fic's prompts (from Tumblr): 18. "This is... exactly what it looks like" and 43. "You wanted me to walk in on you."

Peter didn’t need a map. Honestly, he didn’t! But he might’ve been able to find the room faster if the visual arts building had only straight hallways and large, obvious numbers over the doors―like the natural sciences building where he had his classes. He checked the time on his phone and looked up in time to slide to the side, avoiding a guy toting a large canvas. Both of these were good signs (the phone and the guy). They meant that Peter wasn’t yet late to meet MJ and that he was heading in the right direction; at eight in the evening, classes were mostly over, so chances were that the artist (or just canvas caddie?) had come from MJ’s art class.

Ok, it wasn’t _MJ’s _class (she wasn’t in it and, only in her second year of college, she didn’t teach it), but he kind of thought of it that way. Pictured her commanding and silencing the room.

Peter felt a little warm.

Maybe he’d taken that last set of architecturally-inventive stairs too fast, or maybe he was wearing too many layers. It was always a struggle for him in the fall when the weather changed, and worse now that he was living in student housing. There was no Aunt May to squint at him over their morning cereal and say, “Peter, do you really need a t-shirt, a button-up, a sweatshirt, _and_ a jacket?” But he was figuring it out.

Aha, here was the room (by room, he meant studio) and there, when he swung the door wide, was MJ, standing on the low platform the models posed on. And dropping an ice-blue robe to the floor. There was nothing underneath. Peter let go of the door and it banged into his back, shoving him completely into the room. His girlfriend, who’d had her back to him, flicked her head to glance over her shoulder.

“It’s you.”

Her voice was soft for the size of the space and she didn’t sound surprised. Why was she not surprised? Oh right, because she’d told him the room and the time and asked him to meet her here so they could go out and grab a hamburger after her two hours of stiff posing. Had she counted on Peter getting more lost, thereby leaving her more time to get dressed? That was probably it, but... this was MJ. She thought things through. That could only mean...

“You wanted me to walk in on you,” Peter said, advancing two steps on stiff, toy-soldier legs.

MJ shrugged.

“So what are you gonna do about it?” she asked, hair swaying as she bent to snatch her jeans off the ground and stepping into them. (No underwear―holy shit.)

His brain turned to sludge around the question, dragging it along instead of processing it as MJ pulled the jeans up to her thighs and hopped to bring them the rest of the way. He watched her head tilt down as she zipped them. The noise was ringingly metallic in his ears. That was so much bare back. _So_ much bare back. Blood flooded his groin like air being blown into a balloon. He automatically gripped the front of his jeans, but adjusting himself wasn’t doing a hell of a lot of good with his girlfriend still standing there, trying to turn her shirt the right way out before putting it on.

Peter should say something. He should definitely say something to interfere with the putting-on of the shirt. Do about it? He would do... something. He would just... He closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath through his nose, but his hand kept on fiddling. Stroking. Tugging through the denim.

“It’s fine, Parker,” MJ said, laughing a little as she turned around with her elbows in the air, fighting her way into the twisted shirt. “It was a pretty stupid thing to do. Just thought I’d... _ugh_!―” The neck hole was snug and kept the shirt temporarily trapped around her head, over her eyes. “―shake you up and see what happened.”

He was still gaping at her exposed breasts when she yanked her top into place and out of her face. He was also definitely, _definitely_ still standing there with his hand clutching his dick. Which was where her gaze went.

“This is… exactly what it looks like,” Peter had to admit. He released himself, letting his hands hang at his sides, but the bulge was... well, prominent at this point, and MJ did have a habit of keen observation.

Her mouth rested open for a few seconds before some words came to her.

“That wasn’t one of the things I’d thought you might ‘do about it.’ But all experiments have unpredicted side-effects, right? Right? Is that what they teach you over in NatSci?”

Wow, she was flustered, Peter realized. Colour had raced up his girlfriend’s cheeks and she was flapping the hem of her shirt away from her stomach. He felt less blindsided now.

Peter began smiling as he approached her and MJ compulsively tucked her hair behind both ears. She kept babbling.

“I’ve just...” She raised a hand palm-up. “...I’ve never seen you, you know, _do_ that before. Not that it’s a big deal because it’s not, it’s not a big... a big...”

He stopped in front of her, inches between their noses.

“Don’t you dare,” Peter breathed, smiling eyes locked with her widened ones, “put on a single sock more.”

“You liked my experiment?” She spoke just as much with those brown eyes and read with them too, scanning his face, hungry for feedback.

He swallowed, refreshing his initial shock of opening the door to reveal her nude body.

“It was very effective.”

“Effective,” MJ echoed with a sly smile as she snuck a hand between them and ran her knuckles up his erection. Peter’s mouth popped open. His lips twitched up higher on one side; he could feel himself wearing the smile he always wore when he was ready to trail after her like a puppy.

Wait, had she just turned the tables on him again? Dammit.

Peter kissed her quickly, untucking and re-tucking her hair while he held her face steady. She leaned her forehead against his as they drew apart.

“How was the class?” he asked. “You’re getting used to keeping super still?”

“I’ve _always_ been good at that.”

He laughed. “That’s true.”

“The best thing about it, besides making money to pay for school, is that I can just zone out with no one bothering me. Lots of time to think.”

“I noticed.”

“Scheming on how to get you hot always feels like a good use of my time,” MJ teased, kissing his cheek, then ducking to get beneath his jaw. He panted in surprise as her lips tickled up and down his neck.

“And I am very grateful,” he swore.

He laid his hands on her shoulders, idling in the sensation of her fingers hooking through his belt loops, her thumbs massaging the ridge his dick made in the denim. Peter groaned. When she bit lightly at his throat, his cock leapt and his hands smoothed down to cover her breasts. Without a bra, her nipples prodded his palms through her cotton shirt.

“We’re not actually doing this here,” he verified, glancing up at the low light ringing the room and the high, dark windows.

MJ said nothing. But she unbuttoned his jeans. And she lowered the zipper. Her tongue gave his throat a single stroke before she set Peter internally staggering by going down to her knees.

“Somebody could walk in here.”

It might not be likely, with the hour and the lack of people he could personally attest to viewing on his way up (and they’d all been heading out), but it wasn’t impossible.

“Go lock the door then,” MJ suggested while peeling the front of his boxers down and leaning forward to touch her lips to his shaft as his cock jutted out.

“Holy...” Peter looked swiftly over his shoulder at the door (no activity), then down at the top of his girlfriend’s head. “Ok, yeah, you’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

“Guilty,” she whispered, flattening her tongue against him.

He watched her lick leisurely upward and part her lips over the head of his dick. Apparently, he had two groans: his this-is-a-delicious-hamburger groan and his sex groan. (MJ had informed him of this.) Peter was doing the latter now, and wasn’t too bummed to have been denied a chance at the former. Hamburgers, like gravity, would always be there. The taste for potential exhibitionism his girlfriend seemed to have gained along with her part-time figure modeling gig might be fleeting. _Maybe_ it would be permanent, but if that were the case and Peter was able to look back from the future on this moment, he just couldn’t believe in a timeline where he said, “You know what, baby? How ‘bout we pause this and go grab that burger.” Nuh uh.

“That feels amazing,” he gasped, gently taking hold of her upper arms when she grabbed his hips, “but I hate to see you kneeling. You must be so stiff.”

“Interesting choice of words.”

Peter chuckled weakly as MJ’s mouth descended on him again.

“Oh _fuck_.”

The inside of her mouth, or her lips, or her tongue, or _something_ (he couldn’t pinpoint it through the general thought of _yes_) vibrated with her light laugh and Peter nearly joined her on her knees.

“You’ve proved you’re a pervert who masterminded a plan to absolutely _own_ me while you sat quietly all evening,” he admitted, tone near whining as MJ explored the possibility of easing more of his length into her mouth. “Now let me protect you from yourself.”

She sucked him punishingly before release, making Peter’s whole body jerk and his breathing choke off. Getting to her feet, MJ sighed.

“Ok, let’s get out of here.”

He frowned, yanking his boxers back up to cover himself.

“That’s not what I said.”

He gave his head a shake and his girlfriend put a hand on his arm. It was super sweet, though logically, Peter knew she understood something so minor wouldn’t be enough to throw him off balance.

“I think we should stay,” he said, reeling MJ into him by curling his fingers around the waist of her jeans where it gapped away from her skin. He buried his face against her neck and let his lips graze down.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm,” Peter agreed into her collarbone. “Get you off your feet for a while.”

“Off my feet,” MJ repeated, holding up a hand to begin counting on her fingers, “off my knees... You’re bossy tonight, Parker. What _am_ I allowed to be on?”

He mumbled, lips buzzing against her.

“Hmm?” She sounded drowsy―always a good sign and always a result of him kissing creepingly up her neck (if he did a good job).

“On me,” he repeated lowly. “Be on me, MJ, _please_.”

His girlfriend moaned and Peter glanced up to see her eyes had slid shut. Skating his closed lips back and forth across her cheek, he unfastened her jeans and plunged his hand inside to cup between her legs. He was stunned that blowing him could get MJ so wet. Then again, his erection was straining pretty heroically right now as he fingered her. It made sense―people who were passionate enough about each other to be turned on by the other person’s pleasure were for _sure_ sufficiently nuts to have sex in an art studio.

“Gonna stay? Gonna stay here with me?” he murmured to her.

MJ took firm hold of his wrist and squeezed, a wordless request for more. These were the signals they had. This was the language they spoke. Him, the scientist. Her, the artist. Peter bent his fingers into her and used his other hand to shove her jeans down, pushing at one hip, then the other. Frantically, she tugged at his sweatshirt. With the material hiked up, MJ ran her palm hungrily over his abs.

“Platform, I guess,” she spoke into his mouth before nudging him into a kiss. Her nails scratched lightly below his navel and Peter just about lost his mind.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” MJ laughed―a little airy, a little crazy―their lips brushing.

“Yeah.”

Peter bent and stripped her of her jeans, then hoisted her into his arms. She made things incredibly difficult by scraping over his nipple up under his shirt and stabbing her tongue into his mouth until his hips thumped against hers. Fingers tight in her hair, he walked blindly in the general direction of the raised platform the models posed on. Setting MJ on her feet for even a moment was dangerous; as desperately handsy as a mugger, she wrestled his sweatshirt and T off. Peter didn’t resist (in fact, smiled the whole time) when she pushed against his chest.

He sat and she followed, ignoring the way he grinned up at her to move like she was on a mission (relatable for the guy who spent too many of his evenings and weekends systematically clearing their city of criminals). MJ straddled Peter’s lap, but he refused to be forced onto his back, bracing himself easily against her insisting hands.

“Wait,” he laughed.

“Can’t.”

She gripped his cock through his boxers, then, frustrated, pulled the front of them down again to wrap her fingers around him, unobstructed. Peter sighed heavily, bobbing his hips at his girlfriend’s touch.

“And you call muh... _me_ bossy,” he gasped.

“I know what I want.”

He could only swallow and nod, looking down at her hand stroking up and down his length. Surrendering, Peter laid flat on his back.

“Finally,” MJ muttered, making them both laugh.

She shuffled backward, working his jeans and boxers below his knees and no further. Well, it would do the job. MJ leaned low over Peter, grasping his cock and taking the head into her mouth for another insufferable, divine minute of heat and her undulating tongue. His hands were fists at his sides. Once she’d administered her last lick, Peter smoothed his hands from MJ’s knees up her thighs to urge her forward, resting her slick center against his dick.

Breathing drowsily again, she slowed enough to let him peel her shirt off and drop it at his side, getting a whiff of her when it hit the platform. Their eyes met.

“No condom tonight?” Peter checked. He’d forgotten for a while there, but having her actually on top of him made him mindful. MJ had been on the pill since before their first time and while they almost always supplemented their prophylactic protocol with a condom, on the rare and (he couldn’t deny it) very pleasant occasion, they skipped it.

“Again,” she teased, swinging her hair so it spilled over her shoulder and down to her chest, “is that something you want to get up for?”

“If you’re ok, I’m ok.”

She bent forward and Peter held her face with both hands, kissing her deeply.

“You’re more than ok,” MJ informed him. She wiggled a little on his lap and he choked on a groan.

Peter let her hair glide through his fingers as she sat upright to guide his cock inside her. MJ seated herself in stages, taking a little, angling her hips, taking more, flexing (the delicate squeezes drove him insane in the best way), and dropping―just to make him grunt like he’d been kicked in the stomach, was Peter’s theory. But he didn’t mind. _Fuck_, he never minded.

“We should be quick though,” she casually mentioned. “A custodian usually comes by around 8:30 to empty the trash and recycling.”

MJ left Peter zero time for an outburst about potentially scarring a stranger for life if they were interrupted, planting her knees and rocking her hips in a brisk rhythm that felt way too fucking good. The crown of his head smacked the floor as he instinctively arched his neck. Her fingers trailed along his throat and when Peter shifted his head to look up at her, she winked. The fact that the wink was probably at least 50% sarcastic didn’t stop it from being sexy.

Every day of his student life was about cramming more chemistry into his head, but all he could feel as they ground together―MJ’s tight, rapid hold and his striving thrusts from below―was the kind of basic vinegar and baking soda reaction that goes with a middle school science fair volcano. There was definitely a reaction coming, heat and friction creating a roiling and burning under Peter’s skin. Inside his _brain_. MJ opened her mouth to pant, like she was venting some of that pressure, but it wouldn’t be enough. Peter wedged his hands beneath her knees to save them from bruising, pumping steadily up into her.

“I know how you want it, babe,” he egged her on. MJ’s eyelids fluttered and she rolled her neck in a lazy circle, still rocking. “Go after it. Please,” Peter groaned before biting down hard on his lip.

They’d had the same talk over and over again, about what she could dish out and what he could take. Day to day, they were careful, his super-durability only making his girlfriend more determined to offer delicate treatment in contrast to the occasional battering sustained in his masked line of work. Peter had convinced her over months and years that, while he appreciated her gentleness in most situations, he could handle more. That he, in fact, _wanted_ more when it came to this. That having his girlfriend throw herself into uninhibited climax-chasing like a wave throws itself onto the shore could be one of the ways they took care of each other. If MJ was a force of nature, Peter was that one tree that’s still standing after disaster’s passed by.

The sway of her hips changed from steady to rough; she wasn’t penetrated so much as impaled, palms pressing down on his chest. Peter backed off the force of his own thrusts, simply because the intensity of what MJ was doing was so overwhelming that he needed to start concentrating on not getting off immediately. He focused on the sensation of his jeans bunched up against his shins. His mouth was open, but he had to keep reminding himself to use it to take in air―it was way too easy to just stare up at his girlfriend in a pleasured haze and forget to breathe.

When the way MJ rode him moved from violent bouncing to shallowly fucking herself with his cock on a 45° angle, Peter knew she was close. (Awesome, ‘cause so was he.) It wouldn’t do any good to remove his hands from their function as knee coasters to pinch her nipples or rub her clit; his girl could get herself there without any help from his fingers. Besides, he didn’t want to see her knees turn blue and purple later because he hadn’t protected them.

Sinking his teeth deeper into his lip, Peter gusted air out his nose as he drove up hard with his hips, pounding against her g-spot. MJ’s shoulders shimmied involuntarily and she clutched at his chest, dragging her clit hurriedly against the course hair at his groin while he held himself rigid and there for the taking. She’d started to whine. A long sound, frequently broken, that only resolved itself into his name (shouted) when all that tension collapsed in on her and she came, slamming her hips onto his.

While MJ was still trembling, Peter hugged her into his chest and jerked his hips spastically. He hit his own orgasm, face buried in her hair while he choked out a sound that tried to be, “MJ.” It felt like he’d never be empty, just thrusting forever, as long as she was there, clenching and shivering around him and all awkward elbows and compressed breasts in his arms.

His head hit the floor with a thump and MJ reached up to rub it before she’d lifted her own head off his shoulder. Her pulse or her muscles or whatever was/were still throbbing around his dick. Peter would’ve kept softly thrusting to see how soon they could have each other again, if not for her warning of the imminent custodian. Why hadn’t they done this in either of their beds and enjoyed the luxury of multiple rounds? Maybe staggering naked together from the mattress to the shower? Oh right, because his devious girlfriend had orchestrated a scenario where he walked in on her naked. Yep, this would be one to remember.

She pushed herself up limply while Peter’s hands stroked worshipfully across her back and down her sides. He smiled up at her in adoration. MJ, naturally, rolled her eyes.

“I gotta pee.” She looked thoughtful. “But I also don’t know if I can stand.”

“Make you a deal,” Peter offered, doing a partial sit-up to kiss her cheek. “Let me put my pants back on and I’ll carry you to the door of the women’s restroom.”

“And what else?”

He raised his eyebrows at her, but she waited, looking smug with the knowledge that he’d sweeten the offer. (Damn, they were good to each other.)

“And I’ll go down on you the second we get back to your dorm.”

“You’ll go down on me in the elevator,” MJ negotiated. “In this building.”

“We’re only on the third floor!” Peter reminded her, exasperated. “That’s not enough time!”

“Do you make that kind of bullshit excuse when somebody needs you to save the world? Figure it out, Parker.”

Peter did figure it out and, as a result, nobody remembered to stop for hamburgers.


End file.
